A CLASH OF KINGS – CHAPTER III – EDDARD I
"The great white bird still flapped its wings inside the golden cage on the table in the Small Council chamber. A white raven, flown up all the way from the Citadel, and bringing with it what Eddard Stark already had known would come, word of the end of summer.
Around him, by the sides of the long and great table, sat the men who were tasked with seeing them through autumn and beyond.
Lord Tywin Lannister, his hand, his green eyes ever watching in a morose silence, his hands clasped together in authority before him on the table. His son, Tyrion the Imp, who now served him as Master of Whispers after Baelish had left to attend to Lysa at the Eyrie. He had spoken to him a handful of times now, and began to get a grasp of the curious little man. Inside him was the signature avarice, malady and boundless conceited pride of his tall sire, but also the debaucherous nature of just the kind that had given him his moniker.
The Imp, as Jory had told him, had already visited all of the brothels in King's Landing, spreading his gold and seed alike as if they were one and the same. What remained to be seen, however, was if his many unscrupulous talents could be of use in service of the realm. So far, there had not been any more threatening messages come to them from the Spider, Lord Varys, across the sea or wherever he was hiding. King Eddard Stark hoped sincerely that the company of an imp would prove to be more loyal than that of a spider, but he had still not the proof of it.
Beside the Imp sat old Lord Gyles Rosby, as sickly and coughing as ever, but undoubtedly loyal and alive. It had been a miracle that the man had survived the poisoning at the feast that had killed young Wynafryda and the others, but one that Eddard Stark thanked the gods for. He prayed that the man might overcome his ailment with the help of Grand Maester Pycelle, who sat on the opposite side of the table, just now tending to the raven and reading the message attached to its feet.
"The maesters of the Citadel have conducted their work properly, Your Grace", Pycelle was saying. "The conclave has met, considered reports from maesters all over the Seven Kingdoms, and declared this great long summer over and done with. Nine and a half years. The greatest summer in living memory."
"Aye. Summer is ended. Autumn is here. Now... Winter is coming", Eddard said, feeling the weight of his words like ice freezing the air in front of him, even as he spoke them.
"Winter is coming", some others echoed after him in troubled and hushed tones, among them Lord Wylis Manderly, his Master of Ships.
The man had done a fine job at his position so far, as Ned had known even before that he would. The Manderlys were far more trustworthy than the easily slighted Velaryons, and further removed from Prince Viserys at Dragonstone at that.
"Dorne will do its utmost to help to assist you in this. With autumn here, the Seven Kingdoms will quickly begin to colden and dry up. Our fields are still fertile, our ports overswarming with wheat, barley, olives, figs, pomegranates, melons, oranges, lemons, grapes and wine. Our ships and captains are at the ready, as always, the best captains of the realm, on the fastest ships. We will gladly share our bounty with the capital, all throughout autumn and winter, no matter how long it takes. This much, I promise, Your Grace."
The final man on the council was the one who despite his amicable words of loyalty might yet cause the most problems, unless Ned found a way in which to handle him. Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper.
He had come in stead of his brother Prince Doran, who was too ill from his gout to travel, though Eddard would have preferred a dozen of gout-ridden dornishmen before the man whom they said had the hottest temper under the southern sun, and a sharp blade to match. There was no love lost between him and Tywin Lannister either, even after all these years.
Ned had did his best to place them far apart on the table, with his Hand sitting in Jon Arryn's old place [to the west? To the east?] and Prince Oberyn [ ] further to the east, but the great length between them only served to further emphasize the animosity that lay dormant between them, filling the entire room with anticipation, as if an invisible silk-bare thread stretched all the way from the Old Lion's golden whiskers down the length of the hall to Prince Oberyn's salt-stained black hair, gleaming in the sunlight of day.
"I thank you, Prince Oberyn", Ned said, bowing his head slightly at the intensely eager man. "We will need food more than ever before long. In this, we are all grateful to our friends and allies of Dorne.
There are other things which winter will bring, however. Things that are worse even than starvation." He indicated a gaze towards Jory, who stepped to the side and opened the door for the man who had been waiting for audience without.
"There has come a raven from my brother, Lord Benjen, up at Winterfell. And one from Lord Commander Mormont at the Night's Watch as well. They both write troubling things to us. Tales of things that have not been seen for thousands of years. Of cold winds rising... Dead men rising with it in the night..., of wights and walking shadows and worse. We northmen know of these things all too well. We shall need to send more men up north before long."
The silence at the table was palpable. Noone spoke up, even though Eddard knew that at least some of the men present would have been hesitant to accept it as truth had the words come from anyone else but the wolf king himself. The Others were little more than nursery fables down here in the south, he knew. Things to scare children with. Some even questioned whether they had ever been real at all. He glanced across the room to try and wager how many of his allies held such beliefs. It did not matter much. Before winter was here, they would all know better. The North remembered, his brother had told him of the truth in his letter, and so would they all before long.
"This is Yoren", he inclined towards the rugged man dressed in black who came in bowing and took to stand at the very edge of the table. "He is a wandering brother of the Night's Watch, sent to gather up recruits. I have promised him three hundred able-bodied men and boys from the city, starting with our [cells[ ]. Any of you who have more men to offer, please come forth. We will need as many men serving up on the Wall as we can get before winter is here."
"Casterly Rock will send two hundred", Lord Tywin was quick to declare. Ned doubted whether the Old Lion truly believed in the tales he had heard, but it was a matter of pride for his house and son, he knew. He was better informed than to argue with the generous offer. Instead, he nodded.
"Sunspear will send five hundred", Prince Oberyn was quick to shoot out, overpowering both the offer from the Hand and his king. "The best orphans from the Greenblood, archers, men of crafts and medicine and hunt.
"Orphans are all and well", Lord Gyles considered, "but how many young boys can we send up with limited men to train them? It will merely be a rabble of uncouthsome boys if they can not all be handled, surely."
Prince Oberyn gave a little laugh, as sudden as a Dornish swallow, before replying to the old man.
"My friend, I believe you mistake my meaning. The orphans of the Greenblood are not all young boys. Many of them are men grown, men even of older age than you, or so it would seem. They are named Orphans for being the children of the great river Rhoyne, that flows in Essos, from where they once came with Nymeria a thousand years ago. "
"Oh... Forgive me, my lord. This I must confess I did not know", Gyles mumbled in apology.
"The Watch will be happy for every single man and boy you can spare", the wandering crow Yoren told them, and bowed his head in gratitude. "Winter is on its way, and we are planning on reinhabiting and manning some of the old castles again, if it please Your Grace."
"Indeed", Ned confirmed. "Of the nineteen castles that the Night's Watch holds in its control, only four are currently manned. If the threat beyond the Wall is true, then we will need as many castles as we can find manpower and provisions for. This is a matter for all the realm, not just the North."
Yoren nodded, and the other lords gathered at the table seemed to all agree, although if someone did not, he wouldn't hear it now, he knew. Instead he dismissed Yoren with a promise to take some thirty prisoners from the cells, and gave him over to Martyn to show him the way."
"Now... next up, Your Grace..." Pycelle cleared his throat, "is the matter of constructing new glass gardens outside the city."
The glass gardens had been one of Eddard's most proudest achievements during all of his years as king. The idea had come from Winterfell, and he had let it become applicated on some small fields of the capital and close by, to great result.
Since then, Jon Arryn had let construct furthermore such places in the Vale via his envoys, as well as Lord Gyles at Rosby, Lord Buckwell at Antlers, and several other keeps great and small throughout the Crownlands and Riverlands. Now there had to be new ones built yet again, if they wished for the city to make it through a winter that could promise to be longer even than seven years, though as Pycelle quickly explained to all those gathered, they lacked the labourers necessary.
"Do we not have the ones from last time? There should be at least a dozen men still left from the build at Rosby, from what I recall", Ser Wylis said. "They were paid most handsomely, no?"
"Handsomely indeed. A sizeable portion of them have now been sent to work at Fairmarket, however", Pycelle said. "Lord Tully had instructed them on it shortly before his passing."
"Dorne has many skilled craftsmen", Prince Oberyn interrupted. "We will be glad to assist His Grace with men for the job, if it is needed", the red viper offered.
"And many of such are glassblowers?" inquired Ser Wylis.
It was common knowledge down south that the Dornish, with their deserts and endless amounts of fine yellow and red sand held secrets to working glass, but Ser Wylis was of the North, and did not know much about the pride of dornish labourers besides.
"Indeed they are, my lord Manderly", Prince Oberyn was quick to affirm. "The glassblowers at Sunspear are like none others you will find. They work their magic as if mages from Old Rhoyne..., or perhaps Valyria, if you'd like. They can fashion it into any manner of strange beasts, monsters, men, women, gods..., anything that the minds of men can think out, they can make it so with only a swivel of the hand."
"I think just plane square glass panes will serve", Lord Gyles japed, before flinching on his own spit and turning into a bout of cough that immediately made his beginning smile come to regret itself ten-fold.
"Then it will be so", Oberyn said. "King Eddard's glass gardens are a welcome sight wherever they are set up. They will serve the North as well as the southron kingdoms. From what I understand the crown has good finances, but if it should be necessary, I can assure you, my lords, that my brother will more than gladly assist with funds for the constructions as well.
In Dorne, if I may be so bold, we have always been happy to see the reign of His good Grace King Eddard blossom before our eyes, as a better man than has sat the throne in a hundred years before him. If we can continue his great ideas, such as they have been, my lords, we will all be better off. … Winter, as we all know, is coming", he finished, and turned to his king's face with a sultry knowing smile that seemed to say far more than only that.
Thoughts of dreams long gone came into Eddard Stark's mind, of Ashara Dayne, her raven black hair and her haunting violet eyes, of a tower that had screamed with his sister's dying aches, of a woman leaping like a star from another tower out of the sorrow of her heart...
Of a great knight, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He would have killed me, right there and then, but for Howland Reed... This red viper is almost as ferocious as well, and he loves his sister deeply too, as we all did in those days, Eddard thought to himself.
So much death, so many dead dreams long gone, that went up before his mind's eye, covering it all with dust as suddenly as the avalanche of the Dornish sands. Lyanna's words came back to haunt him, for a hundredth time. Promise me, Ned... Promise me...
The leap of the red viper straight up and behind his chair, flying up to smack the old coughing Lord Gyles on the back, sent him wide awake again.
"Breathe! Drink some water, old man, or you will bleed to death", the prince was saying, as benevolently as he could in his fervour and terrification at the – to him – so unusual sight.
"Lord Gyles is often of this consternation", Grand Maester Pycelle tried explaining. "He has survived it all so far. I do not think water will help him further just today..."
"With all respect, Grand Maester. As a Dornishman myself... And a sailor... A man can never have enough water to drink. Here."
He extended a cup of lemonwater to the ailing Lord Gyles, who accepted it graciously, managing a tiny affirmation and improvement in his posture before the fiery Martell let him go and returned to his seat, as suddenly as he had left it.
Lord Tywin cleared his throat.
"If we may carry on with the matters at hand..."
"Of course, my lord hand. I did not mean to interrupt."
"...I believe we have more to go through. Something pertaining to [ , Grand Maester?"
"Oh yes," Pycelle inclined, as he continued on with the list of business for the day.
When all matters of state had been dealt with for the moment, the king exited the Small Council chamber and took a few strides, [Jory?] and Ser Barristan flanking his sides, before Prince Oberyn came sidling up beside him. He sauntered with the ease of a man who had lived his entire life without any fear, although he did show his respect for Barristan the bold, bowing for the legendary old knight a second time in one day.
"Ser Barristan. I am glad to see that you are still here, after all these years, serving His Grace. Your brother – and my dear uncle – Ser Lewyn was slain in the war, and His Grace cut down three others, Ser Willem Darry wasted away of illness, the Young Lion was sent to the Wall... and now, only you remain of Aerys' kingsguard."
"Do not speak his name where I can hear it", Ned warned. "You speak of times long gone."
"Ah, yes, but those times have shaped us all, have they not? The decisions that were made, in the heat of battle, commands given, roads taken and not taken... And now, even now, we are all here to live by their consequences."
"None of us are innocent of mistakes in heated moments", Eddard said. "It is a story well-known of why you yourself was forced into exile after killing Lord Yronwood, is it not?"
Prince Oberyn gave a laugh, as if he was smitten by the commen, taking it as a compliment of his good swordsmanship, and not a measure of his character.
"And then my dear brother's son, Quent, was sent to foster there as an apology for his uncle's sins. Life is not fair. Although now he is here, in the capital, with the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Sometimes, things work out for us all in the best way, would you not say?"
"If you have something to say other than what was said in the meeting, I suggest you do so. My patience is well known, but I have been in session all day, and just now my back is not as forgiving as my temper. I need to return to my chambers as soon as possible."
The viper laughed again.
"I suppose you are disappointed, that it is I you have to meet with, to have sit at your council, and not my brother. Alas, his gout is much too strong for him to rise above it and make travel. But I am certain that I will be able to conduct myself in the same diplomatic way that he would have done. Let us speak on betrothals, Your Grace."
"Must we now?" Eddard asked. "I would rather it wait until the morrow."
Truth be told, he would gladly speak about such matters until the sun came up, as long as it kept the red viper from searching up any unsuspecting Lannister and picking a fight with them, but he would be wise to keep his enthusiasm cool with the man, if he should have any hope of controlling him, be it now or later.
"My nephews are sweet boys, both of them. As are the princesses, from what I hear. Princess Sansa, in particular, is already a ruby of unmatched beauty, if not for her royal mother, of course. When will Her Grace join us?"
"I do not know", Ned replied truthfully. "She is currently at White Harbour, with Lord Manderly. I should expect her here within the coming moon, though not even kings can predict such things."
"I will pray for her, and for your two young boys, the princes", he promised. "Although if I were you, I would worry far more about the children who yet remain here under the roof of your Hand. They call me the Red Viper, but I assure you I would much rather leave my own daughters in the warm embrace of a snake than under the watch of Tywin Lannister."
A cool moment swept between them, as old sins stomped into the castle walls came alive again, the screams and cries of Elia Martell and her two young babes.
Rhaenys, the young girl, had been of an age close to Rickon now, and little Aegon merely a babe at his mother's breast, when the Mountain and the Manticore had ended their lives then and there, in the most gruesome way possible. Ned shuddered when he thought about it, but he would not allow himself to go further than that in his mind.
They were both dead, and their secrets dead with them. The gods made justice with my judgement, and my blade, he told himself. There is no more now. Though princess Elia's brother would never forget, nor stop wondering over who had secretly ordered the command, he knew.
"My children are in the care of Ser Barristan here, and of Ser Jory, and Ser Balon and Ser Arys, and all of their brothers. I did not name Lord Tywin as my hand for his skills in nursery rhymes."
"Evidently not. You wish for the Warden of the West to stay content and in the fold. That much is clear. Although there could certainly have been others, more suited. Any truly loyal man should be well and content to see his daughter betrothed to the brother of the king."
"And you", he reminded Oberyn, "you wish for your nephews' betrothals. Both of them?"
"If that may be arranged, certainly. Although in truth I do not think that Quentyn will have done a great job at impressing the princess. Her royal father is a great warrior, after all", he commended. "She will expect no less for her husband."
Eddard had to stop and think at that. Was he speaking of himself? The thought seemed too absurd, altogether too wild, even for the Red Viper. Sansa was younger than half of Oberyn Martell's bastard daughters, whom they called the Sand Snakes, after their father's moniker. Surely he could not expect to take her for his bride, and certainly not so soon speak of it? She had only just turned twelve years of age, a mere child, and was unflowered besides.
Thankfully, the dornisman soon made clear what he meant.
"Ser Loras Tyrell is a great jouster, and a master swordsman, for his youth", he said, "and his brother Ser Garlan as well. Although many whisper that the knight of flowers takes more fondly to the bed of Renly Baratheon than that of girls."
"I had heard such rumours", Ned was forced to admit. "Though there is still plenty of time to decide what to make of it. She is yet little more than a child", he added.
The viper went silent, as he seemed to contemplate the words.
"A child, yes... And we do all want to protect our children... If I were you, Your Grace, I would not trust Lord Tywin further than I can hold him with my spear. Take my word for it. He is an illdom for the kingdoms, and for your peaceful rule.
"He is my Hand, wish it so or not, and he has been here longer than you", Ned said, as they made to part by the stairs up to his solar. "I will gladly take your advice if you can put it forth on the council, and without risking war with your words. Elsewise, I have just been ridded of my former Master of Whispers, who had the same poor habit as you. I am tired, and will bid you a good evening. I suggest you go to your nephews, and spend time with them. Watch over them, play with them, protect them, make certain that they are both safe, and Lord Lannister will be the lesser of your concern."
He watched the tiniest hint of afterthought in Oberyn Martell's eyes, as [Jory?] blocked out his visage with his armoured shoulder and white cloak and closed the door behind his king."